"I--I'm just waitin', sir," answered Spike, closing his eyes, "I--I seen
a guy shot once!"

Mr. Ravenslee sighed and nodded.

"After all," said he, "I don't think I'll croak you," and he slipped
the revolver into his pocket while Spike watched him in sudden tense
eagerness.

"What yer mean to do wi' me?" he asked.

"That's the question; what shall I do with you? Let me think."

"Say," cried the boy eagerly, "you don't have to do no thinkin'--leave
it all to me! It's de winder for mine; I'll chase meself quick--"

"No you don't! Sit down--sit down, I say!"

Spike sighed and seated himself on the extreme edge of the chair his
captor indicated.

"Won't yer lemme beat it, sir?" he pleaded.

"No, some one else might catch you next time and have the pleasure
of--er--croaking you or handing you over to the police--"

"There won't be no next time, sir!" cried Spike eagerly. "I'll never
do it no more--I'll cut d' whole gang, I'll give Bud M'Ginnis d'
throw-down--on d' dead level I will, if you'll only let me--"